Unravelled (29 page)

I nod patiently and keep my voice calm. He’s so easily antagonised now; I have to be careful. “I know what it means to be a half-breed. You belong in two places, and sometimes it feels like you belong nowhere. If I packed up and moved to London I’d still be part Tswana, and if I stay here forever I’ll still be part English. I can’t live entirely in the supernatural world or entirely in the physical word. I’m always going to be part of two worlds. I could look at that as a disadvantage – or as a blessing.”

Rakwena snorts. “Being a drifter is a curse. It makes everyone miserable. You never stay in one place, you’re tied to six other people for the rest of your life, you can’t have a normal life. That’s what you want for me?” He’s giving off sparks already.

I sit up straight and take his hands in mine. The sparks inch along his fingers and jump into mine. The tingle moves all the way up my arms and shoulders, settling somewhere in the middle of my back. “You’re only half-drifter. Maybe you have different choices, a different fate. Maybe there are great advantages to being a drifter. I can already think of one – six guys who obviously care about you. After all these years of being alone, why would you turn your back on that?”

“You just can’t forgive me for lying to you,” he whispers.

I let out an exasperated groan. “You only lied because you couldn’t come to terms with who you are. That’s the root of all our problems. You couldn’t admit to me who you are because you haven’t accepted it yourself. You need to deal with this, Rakwena, and soon. You’re lost! You’ve been lost for years, and being with me isn’t going to fix it.”

He releases my hands with a bitter laugh. “So you’re letting me go for my own good?”

It’s then that I realise where my words are leading. Am I letting him go? Yes. The thought makes my heart flutter in protest, but beneath the ache there’s a steady calm. I have to let him go. For now, at least.

“Do I look like a fairytale heroine?” I manage to smile, even though my eyes are starting to sting. “I’m letting you go because I don’t want half a boyfriend, and that’s what you’re offering me.” I reach up to run a finger along his scar. “I don’t want a doped-up, glossed-over version of you. I don’t want lies and secrets, I want the truth. Even the ugly parts.”

He moves away from me and gets to his feet. “You were happy with the lies before you found out.”

I stare at him, astounded. “Well, back then I didn’t know you were such a coward!”

“A
coward
?” he cries. “Me?”

“Ja, you. You’re afraid of your own DNA. How can you even think about a relationship with me when you have such a screwed up relationship with yourself?”

He glares at me in stony silence, unimpressed by my psychobabble.

“You’re a mess,” I go on.

“So help me.”

“The only people who can help you are the ones you keep avoiding.” I look up into his eyes. “Do you even know why you want to be with me?”

“Because you’re cute?” He grins hopefully.

“Because I’m
safe
. You can’t hurt me the way you could hurt an ungifted. You see, deep down you
want
to be a drifter.”

“I don’t want to be a drifter,” he argues. “Are you joking? I want to be normal!”

“If you were normal, we wouldn’t be together.”

His eyes widen, and I realise it’s the first time he’s even considered that.

“Think about it,” I go on. “We wouldn’t have this connection. There would be no sparks, no magic. You’d never have come up to me the day my telepathy started. We’d never have met, never have become friends. You’d just be some guy I went to school with, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

He’s silent. His jaw is clenched and his eyes scan the floor, searching for a counter-argument and coming up short. He looks so unlike himself. The cockiness is gone, replaced by uncertainty and confusion. I guess it’s my turn to be the superhero. I lean over to kiss him. Our last kiss. I want it to be fiery and passionate, a kiss to remember me by, but somehow it doesn’t seem appropriate. What he gets instead is a soft kiss, bittersweet and gentle. And then I move out of his embrace, get up and head for the door.

“I’m not going to join them.”

I smile sadly, but keep my back to him. “You’re off the serum now. Do you really think you can fight the bond forever?”

“Yes.”

I give in and glance at him as I open the door. Beautiful, stubborn Rakwena, still in denial. “Good luck with that.”

“One more thing,” he says. “Your grandfather. I…” Emotions flicker across his face. Determination, doubt, confusion, guilt, then resolve. “Tell him thanks.”

That’s not what he meant to say, but I let it go. There’s been enough talking for one day. I close the door gently behind me.

Chapter Thirteen

It’s strange how life just carries on after a major event, as if nothing ever happened. The sun rises and sets, people go about their business, shopping and laughing and picking fights. Through wars and famine and magical mayhem, we still find things to smile about. It seems almost wrong.

I remember feeling similarly amazed by human resilience after my mother died. My world had just ended, but instead of exploding into a million pieces the way I thought I would, I just kept waking up to another day, and another, and another, until the day I woke up and didn’t feel sad anymore.

I’m tougher now. I feel as though I could be hit over the head repeatedly with a bat and still come out swinging. Life post-Rakwena is not the end of the universe. I’m the heroine of my own life story, a big girl, a soldier. There’s nothing I can’t handle on my own. I spend prom night at home, watching a TV movie with Dad.

November slides seamlessly into December. Ntatemogolo has become a tyrant, but despite my dislike of his merciless approach to my training, I must admit it is yielding results. I can keep a permanent barrier up for seven hours now. There has been no further sign of Emily, my Puppetmaster dream is gone and, apart from the gap left by Rakwena, life seems almost normal.

People are making holiday plans. Lebz is trying to convince her father to take the family to Cape Town rather than spend a few weeks at the cattle post.

“It’s not fair,” she protests, as she walks me home after a morning of hanging out at her house. “Rita got to run off to Jamaica by herself! Everything she does is selfish. I’m trying to arrange a nice beach holiday for the whole family. This is not about me. It’s about all of us. Why can’t Papa see that?”

“I can’t imagine,” I reply wryly. “Maybe you can compromise. One week at the cattle post, two weeks in Cape Town.”

She beams. “Great idea. Now how do I convince him to let me have my own hotel room?”

As we approach my house, I notice someone standing near the gate.

“Isn’t that Duma?” asks Lebz, glancing at me.

I nod. It’s good to see his cute face again, but I can’t help wondering what he wants. Lebz and I approach in silence.

“Hi.” I lean against the gate, watching him.

He swallows. “I know you’re angry with me for not telling you about…” His voice falters and his gaze slides in Lebz’s direction. “You have to understand – ”

“I’m over that,” I cut in. “You were trying to protect him. I get it.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not just about loyalty. We have rules. None of us would ever out another – that’s a serious breach.” He looks at Lebz again.

“
Ija
!” She rolls her eyes and heaves a theatrical sigh. “I can take a hint. See you later, Connie.” She waves and heads back towards her house.

“It’s nothing personal,” he calls after her. She glares at him over her shoulder. “Do you trust her?” he asks me in a whisper.

“More than I trust you.” I fold my arms. “You were saying?”

“We need your help.”

Of course they do. Isn’t that always the case? “Rakwena still wants nothing to do with you, and frankly I’m tired of trying –”

“Just hear me out!” he cries.

I’m taken aback by the urgency in his voice. “What’s going on?”

“Rakwena might be in trouble.”

There goes my pulse, racing madly. “What do you mean?”

Duma rubs the back of his neck and lowers his gaze. “Someone saw him leaving his house the night he went to your grandfather.”

“So?”

“Connie, he was like a walking lantern!”

I gasp as his point hits home. “That’s bad.”

He nods. “We’ve got the witness at our house. We hired him to do some odd jobs, just to keep him close, but you’re the only one who can find out exactly what he saw, and who he told about it. And maybe you could…you know…help him forget.”

I regard him sceptically. “I’m a telepath, not a magician.”

“You could plant a thought,” he suggests. “Nothing major, just enough to make him doubt what he saw. Please, Connie. If anyone finds out about Rakwena…”

I should have known. Things were getting too quiet; it was a sign that drama was about to unfold. “Let’s go.”

“Thank you.” Duma squeezes my hand. After taking such care to keep his distance, it feels a little odd. His skin crackles and stings where it touches mine, but the power’s weaker than the last time I held his hand.

About forty minutes later, we’re walking up his street.

“I’m sorry for dragging you out here,” he says. There’s a funny catch in his voice. My eyes narrow and my consciousness tiptoes towards his, but of course the barrier’s up and running.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

He smiles sadly, but doesn’t answer. He opens the gate and ushers me in. The house looks quieter than ever, and I’m starting to feel an unnerving prickle on the back of my neck. I’m uneasy, but I don’t sense immediate danger. I follow Duma inside, trying to determine what’s bugging me.

Temper, Mandla and Elias are huddled around the table, deep in discussion. They fall silent and look up when we enter. I wave. No one responds. Duma closes the door behind him, and in the silence I hear the lock turn. I glance at him in alarm; clearly this mystery witness is more of a threat than I imagined.

“Where are Spencer and Reetsang?” I ask, looking around.

Elias snorts. “In confinement for bad behaviour.”

Temper glares at him, and Elias shrinks back. “I don’t remember asking for a spokesman.”
Yoh
. Somebody’s in a lousy mood.

I clear my throat. “What bad behaviour?”

“They’ve become impossible lately, that’s all,” says Temper. “Don’t ask,” he adds, as I open my mouth to do just that.

I’m curious now. I know Spencer and Reetsang were the most volatile members of the cell, and I can only assume they’ve become more difficult to control. But that’s not my problem – I’m here for Rakwena. I turn to Duma. “So where’s this witness? Please tell me he isn’t bound and gagged in a storeroom.”

Duma doesn’t answer. There it is again – that uneasy feeling. When I look at Temper, his expression is resigned. No one says a word, and Elias has moved to stand in front of the door. Duma is hunched over in the corner, chewing his lip. He looks…guilty.

Anger surges, coloured by a fierce slash of fear, as I realise what’s going on. “There is no witness, is there? That was just a ruse to get me here.”

Duma hangs his head, but doesn’t deny it. Damn it! They knew if they told me Rakwena’s cover was threatened I’d come running, and now they have me in their lair. But what do they want? I glance at Elias, standing before the locked door.

“Am I a prisoner now?” I’m surprised by how calm my voice is.

“Of course not,” Temper sighs.

“So why’s Elias on guard duty? It’s not like I can outrun any of you.” My gaze settles on Duma. “Except him, maybe.”

He can’t even look at me. This is the second time he’s manipulated me on the cell’s behalf. When am I going to stop falling for it?

“Sit down.”

It takes me a minute to realise that Temper is talking to me. I fold my arms. “I’m not one of your brothers.”

“Sit the hell down, Conyza, or I will be forced to hurt you.” His voice is soft, but his tone tells me he means every word.

I stare at him in shock. I don’t understand what’s happened here. One minute we’re becoming friends, and the next I’m being treated like a criminal! I pull up a chair from the dining table and plonk myself onto it, fuming.

“I haven’t done anything,” I spit out. “I didn’t break your precious code, so there’s no reason to get all Mafia on me! Is this about Rakwena? Because I already – ”

“Quiet!” Temper snaps, making me flinch. “Listen to me! I don’t know what Duma has told you, but my cell is falling apart. Spencer and Reetsang are like wild animals. They’ve already been in several fights. They almost ended up in jail, but fortunately the council intervened.”

I look from Temper to Mandla. “Are they going to be punished?”

“Oh, trust me, they’ll be disciplined,” grunts Temper with a trace of bitterness. “But not by the clan.”

Mandla clears his throat. “Since Temper is our leader, he must take responsibility for our conduct. If the council is going to punish anyone, it’ll be him.”

My eyes widen. “Is that why I’m here? You want me to talk to them on your behalf?”

They exchange looks again, and Duma emits something that sounds suspiciously like a whimper.

“Tell me!” I yell.

Silence. No one is in the mood to be swayed by my ranting, it seems. It’s a good few minutes before Temper finally speaks again.

“There is only one way to repair our cell,” he says. “We need Rakwena. Without him we’ll never be on track. The council recognises this fact and has decided to take action. He’s the only half-drifter in recorded history to fight the bond, so the rules had to be changed a little. The council can’t force him to join the cell, but they can remove the main obstacle keeping him from us.”

“The serum!” I gasp. “But he’s not taking it anymore. My grandfather won’t – ” I fall silent, wondering whether I’ve said too much, but their expressions register no surprise. They already know that Ntatemogolo created the serum that has ruined their cell. I feel a painful twinge of guilt. Temper pre-empts me with his next statement.

“Your grandfather can’t be held responsible for what has happened.” He clears his throat and looks at me. “The council has already asked him to hand over his remaining serum and any documents referring to its production. He agreed to stop administering it, but refused to hand it over. The council was forced to take drastic measures. I’m sorry, but we can’t disobey a direct order, Connie. They’ve asked us to detain you.”